


Fruit from the Woods

by Random_ag



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Best Friends, Eska has some problems, Raving, Very generally they're sad boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 20:36:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15081233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: A janitor, his best friend and a simple question.





	Fruit from the Woods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Control_Room](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/gifts).



“Hey, what’s your name?”

Eska turned to his sitting-on-the-floor-instead-of-working-is-selfcare companion. Willy had a cheek in his palm and a curious look in his tired eyes.

“Eska.”

The janitor chuckled a little: “No, I mean your  _real_  name. It’s not Eska, right?”

The factotum nodded.

“Then what is it?”

“Jeremy.”

Willy’s eyes widened: “Really?” he asked, astonished at how easy getting that information seemed to have been.

“No.”

“Ah, I should have known. Don’t worry. It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me.”

He laid back on the wall, inhaling. The floor was uncharacteristically quiet. Good for a short nap.

“It’s not Silvestro.”

He immediately opened his eyelids and looked back at his friend.

“It’s not Silvestro Karpos Agne. Mama wasn’t from Sudtirol. Dad wasn’t Greek. Know where they are now. Remember them not leaving.”

His gaze was stuck somewhere far away, passing through the creaky floorboards as if they hadn’t existed. His low tone was somewhat funereal.

“Haven’t been alone. Have looked for them. I care. I’m not tired. I’m not tired.”

He jolted his head up and pushed it with his hands, trying to rip it from his neck.

Willy grabbed his wrists: “Stop that! You’ll hurt yourself!”

“I’m a demon, a demon, a little demon.” Eska began raving, “Little demons don’t have necks, little demons have toothy grins, little demons don’t have skulls for faces, little demons are friends with wolves, little demons aren’t called Silvestro or Karpos or Eska, little demons have little horns, pointy horns, where are my horns, where are my horns?”

Eska revealed to be stronger than he seemed: easily fighting the grip on his hands he snatched the janitor’s collar, irises fearful and liquid, ready to fall apart.

“Did you take my horns? DID YOU TAKE MY HORNS?” he almost shouted.

He fell onto the floor shivering, carrying Willy with him. His trembling became more fierce, then started to diminish; he finally turned perfectly still.

The janitor tried in vain to break free from his strong, yet unlively grasp. It felt like being having a frozen corpse clutching to you out of the desperation that preceeded its end. And he noticed, with a shudder crawling up his spine, that his friend’s eyes were glassy and open like those of the dead.

“Eska? Eska, let me go.”

Eska didn’t respond.

“Eska! This isn’t funny!”

Eska didn’t respond.

“… Silvestro?”

Eska didn’t respond.

His eyelids closed softly and his hands fell on his chest.

He took a long, deep breath and stared at the other with his bicolor gaze.

“You scared me.”

Eska didn’t respond, instead wrapping him in his arms. They both sat up on the floor again, the factotum’s chin on the janitor’s shoulder.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Did I say something?”

“… yes.”

“What was it?”

“About someone called… Silvestro Karpos, I think.”

“… Fruit from the woods.”

“What?”

“Silvestro means ‘from the woods’, Karpos ‘fruit’. Fruit from the woods.”

“Are they from the same language?”

“No.”

Willy patted his back: “You know a lot of things, uh?”

“Bagpipes are made out of sheep stomachs.”

“… I really didn’t need to know  _that_.”

Eska made a weird sound, like a half strangled laugh, and buried his masked face in his friend’s chest. The smell of lavander made him feel lightheaded.

“I’m not Silvestro.” he whispered barely above a breath.

“Is that the truth?”

Eska didn’t respond.


End file.
